Chapter Thirteen
by a rose and its thorns
Summary: Chapter Thirteen of Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry.


**Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry**

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

I awoke early in the morning, tears still dry on my cheeks. I rolled over, finding the other side of the bed cool and empty, and realized that Big Ma wasn't there.

Opening my eyes a crack wider, I stared at the thin streams of sunlight that filtered in through the small window. Quietly, I got dressed, and slipped onto the porch and into the boys' room.

Christopher-John and Little Man were inside, lying down but not asleep. Stacey was not in his bed or anywhere in the room.

"Hey, y'all," I said quietly.

Little Man slowly turned his head in my direction, and sat up. "Cassie?" he said. "What they gonna do with T.J.?"

It was a question I was not sure how to answer, so I managed a "he'll be all right," followed by a helpless shrug.

"Where Stacey go?" I asked them.

"Not sure," Christopher-John answered. "He was gone when I woke up."

I thought a bit, made up my mind and slipped into Mama's room. Big Ma and Mr Morrison were there, talking, and did not notice me as I softly closed the door behind me and hid in the shadows.

"…with a quarter of our cotton gone, and David's leg still layed up, I reckon we'll need some way to get hold of money to pay them taxes," Big Ma was saying.

Mr Morrison stared into the fire. "With recent events…it's harder for me to find a job now. Many people don't want me there…don't want any trouble…'specially with Mr Granger, he's been sayin' that—"

I ran from my hiding spot in the shadows and into the full light of the room. "Where's Stacey?" I blurted, startling them both.

Big Ma frowned at me. "He ain't here," she said shortly. "Now leave the adults alone, Cassie. Go on, scat!"

I did not move. "Where's Papa? And Mama?" I pressed. I would find Stacey myself, later.

"They up in Strawberry," Mr Morrison rumbled. "Got some business with Mr Jamison." I thanked him and ran to the kitchen, then dashed outside. Stacey was nowhere to be seen.

Scrambling onto the back porch and into the boys' room again, I arrived to find Christopher-John now sleeping and Little Man reading the book Papa gave him for Christmas.

"You sure you don't know where Stacey is?" I whispered, so as not to wake Christopher-John.

Little Man shook his head. "No, I got no idea." He saw my expression. "Why, what's the matter? Cassie?"

"He's missing," I told him, faintly, turning toward the door again. He dashed after me. "Where you goin'? I'm comin' with you!"

I held the door open for him, and then slipped out and started down the road, Little Man by my side.

"I'm goin' to find Stacey."

I was headed halfway down the road first, as if we were going back to school. I tried not to think about it so much, because I was immediately reminded of T.J. I even half-expected to see him, ducking the low tree branches and leaping off the forest bank, ambling jauntily to our side, casually talking about his latest near-escape from trouble…

Little Man and I turned into the forest, searching the forest paths and visiting our frequented hangout areas. Stacey was nowhere to be found.

We found Jeremy, sitting by the pond, skipping stones and staring into space. I wasn't sure how he did both at the same time, and pushed the thought aside.

"Hey, Cassie," greeted Jeremy. He lacked some of his usual self, I noted.

"Hey, Jeremy," I returned. "You seen Stacey?"

"No," he replied flatly.

Little Man tugged at my sleeve. "Come on, Cassie, let's go."

"See you, Jeremy," I told him. He did not reply, instead, he tossed a stone into the pond where it landed with a light _plok_ and only sighed in response.

I decided to leave him to his brooding. Little Man and I returned to the road.

In an hour or so, we passed Jefferson Davis. I scanned the parking lot and saw both school buses parked neatly beside each other. An odd feeling rose up in my throat and I swallowed, trying to push it down. When school started again, the bus would always be there, always trying to humiliate us for the entertainment of its passengers. Stacey, Christopher-John, Little Man, Claude and I. But not T.J. Never again would T.J. be dirtied by the bus.

I hurried past it quickly with my head down. "Hey, don't you think we should check that place out in case Stacey's there?" Little Man asked.

"Stacey won't be down there," I said quickly.

He frowned. "Why not? He could be."

"But he ain't," I said, confident that my older brother would not do something as foolish and dangerous as going into the property of a white school.

"He could be," Little Man persisted. "I'm going to check it out."

I turned back to face the striped-and-starred flag with a sigh. "I'm comin' with you."

We crept down to the school grounds cautiously. The parking lot was wide and felt large, way bigger than it actually was. Little Man and I were mere ants in the universe. I felt small and intimidated and vulnerable, knowing that if someone were to come out here there would be nowhere we could hide.

When we reached the two school buses, we went around them, giving them both a wide berth as possible. I noted that the second one had its wheel fixed, but kept my eyes glued to the ground, as if the bus drivers were hiding behind the wheel and were just waiting to start the engine and hurriedly run us over.

Little Man and I circled the school once, but could not find Stacey anywhere. We were just about to step back onto the road when a voice startled us.

"You shouldn't be here."

I turned around quickly, almost expecting to see Papa or Mr Morrison, Mama or Big Ma. Instead, I found myself facing Lillian Jean Simms, who was looking at both of us with an unreadable expression.

"What you doin' here?" I blurted.

She did not reply immediately, only eyed us in a way that reminded me of a predator eyeing its prey, sizing it up.

"That's none of your business," she said eventually. She was talking mainly toward Little Man, deliberately ignoring me. Well, she could if she liked, but I promised myself I wouldn't lose my temper.

"Come on, Man," I said nervously, afraid she would try something like in Strawberry. But she only stared after us and this time, I thought she looked rather confused. Did she know about R.W. and Melvin and what they did to the Barnetts? Probably, I decided. The Simmses were a family and therefore must know about what they did. I didn't blame her for looking so confused—I wouldn't want R.W. and Melvin as siblings, either.

"How come d'you suppose she look so sad?" Little Man asked once out of earshot, voicing my thoughts.

I tried to formulate an answer. "I guess she knows 'bout what R.W. and Melvin done," I replied. I made a mental note that if anyone tried anything like that on me, like what they did to T.J., I'd knock their block off.

We ran the last few meters until we were at Great Faith. We circled the school once, again, not seeing any sign of him. I tried the door—it was unlocked. After the tugging the knob a few times, it came loose, and Little Man and I pushed the door open, not without difficulty.

He was in the seventh grade classroom. A pile of books was still on the desk, and he was fingering the pages. I didn't know if he heard us or not, but gave no sign that he did. We lingered at the doorway for a while, and I finally gave up and went in, Little Man trailing at my heels.

This time he _did_ look up. "Whatcha doin' here?" he asked hoarsely. "Cassie? Little Man? Where's Christopher-John?"

"Lookin' for you," I told him honestly. "Where you been?"

I started to ask what he was doing there, but cut myself off before I could say it. I suddenly knew why he was here. He was here to remember—remember T.J., and being in school with him, and remembering Mama, and being taught by her. Remember what was and what would never be.

Wordlessly, I took a book from the pile and opened it to the first page. A piece of brown paper was glued neatly over where the offensive chart should be stamped.

"Look, they Mama's books!" said Little Man, who was also peering at the book. "They got the piece of paper of it. Stacey, is this why Mama lost her job, because she glued paper on the books?"

"No, Man," Stacey replied. "She got fired 'cause—'cause T.J. told on her, that's why. The board needed a reason to fire her, and that was 'cause she wasn't teaching what was in here, and they say she ruined the books, too."

Little Man nodded and said no more. We stared in silence at the books for a while. I flipped through it and tried to find a story I understood, reading parts of it, until at last Stacey said, "Come on, y'all. Let's go on home."

We moved out the door and out the school without looking at each other or saying any more, and started down the long road in complete silence. As we passed a gully, I finally broke it.

"Stacey, how come Jeremy and ole Lillian Jean look so sad?"

Stacey kicked at a small rock, head hanging. "What do you mean?" he mumbled, not looking up. I repeated my question.

He sighed. "I don't know, Cassie. You gotta ask Mama."

When we arrived at home, Big Ma and Mr Morrison were waiting for us.

"Lord, children, where you been?" Big Ma exclaimed. "Don't you know better, after what happened last time, then to sneak off for hours without telling us? You worried us to death and I thought that—"

She cut herself off, but I knew what she going to say. She thought that there had been another incident, like what happened with T.J.

When neither of us answered her immediately, she fixed us with a piercing gaze. "Well, where y'all been?"

Stacey, Little Man and I looked at each other. "We…went for a walk," I decided to settle on.

"A two-hour long walk," Big Ma muttered. She evidently hadn't noticed Stacey's previous disappearance.

"Well, get inside. There's food on the table waitin' for y'all."

"Where's Mama and Papa?" Stacey asked before I could stop him.

Big Ma regarded him quizzically. "Why, don't you know? They up in Strawberry, left this morning." Doing what, she would not say. We ate our lunch in silence.

Come evening, the wagon pulled up outside the barn. Christopher-John, Little Man and I dashed outside as Papa climbed stiffly down and started to unhitch Jack. I ran over to help.

"Papa, where you been?" I cried, as my fingers worked on untying a knot, confident that he would tell me.

His answer was no less vague than Big Ma had been. "In Strawberry, with Mr Jamison," he said.

"Just seein' him 'bout the taxes. Don't you worry, Cassie girl, we'll keep our land," he said to my unasked question. He added, almost as if convincing himself, "We'll keep our land."

Mama climbed down from the wagon, saw us and smiled, then headed toward the house, probably to find Big Ma. I dashed inside after her.

"I don't want to write to Hammer, David," came Mama's voice from her room. I stood just outside the door, debating whether I should go inside or not.

"We've already asked him for money once. Now we've got less cotton, you can't go on the railroad and Mr Morrison can't find a job…face it, we very well may lose this land."

Papa sighed. "We can't keep on borrowing money from Hammer…you're right. I do wish he was here, after all this happened…sometimes I feel like doin' what he'd do. We can't lose this land, Mary. Our family and our lives depend on it."

"We have to find money somewhere," Mama retorted. "I think we can meet the September payment, actually. It's the October one I'm worried about."

"You and I both know that Harlan Granger won't stop at anything to get this land," came Papa's voice. "And so we're gonna have to do all we can to protect it. I'm just worried, Mary, about the children…and Mr Morrison…they'll be in a right amount of danger, too…"

This was all too much for me. I ran into the room. "Papa, we gonna lose this land?" I asked.

Papa pulled me onto his land and sighed. "To be honest, Cassie girl…yes, we might. We just might lose this land."

The next morning, I arrived downstairs to find all the adults talking in harsh whispers, looking very gloomy. As soon as Stacey and I set foot in the kitchen, they immediately quieted and shooed us outside. We did our chores early, in silence. It was a good twenty minutes of doing nothing after that before we decided to go back inside again.

"…don't know how it'll affect the—Cassie, what you doin' here?" Big Ma said.

Seeing that they were still conducting important business, I started to back out of the room. "Stacey and I are going to the forest," I added, in case they worried when we weren't back.

Before the door closed behind me, I saw Mama and Papa exchange a worried glance, then look out the window.

The forest was nice and cool today; tree leaves shading us from the sun. We ambled lazily down a forest path, Stacey holding a watermelon under his arm, and we came to the pond that we often frequented on hot days.

I dipped my feet into the water, leaning against the trunk of an old tree. "Stacey, d'you suppose we shoulda woken Little Man and Christopher-John?" I asked drowsily. The hot afternoon was starting to make me sleepy.

"They obviously woken up," said Stacey. "It's afternoon. . .naw, they'll probably find their way here soon enough."

Some ten minutes later, I heard someone come up the forest path. Expecting my brothers, I was a bit surprised when Jeremy Simms appeared. He, too, looked surprised to see us.

There was an awkward silence; Jeremy studied us and we studied him, and I noticed that today he looked forlorn; his face was drawn and pale.

After a while, I took it upon myself to greet him with the usual "Hey."

He didn't respond, only gazed at us, and I asked him why.

"There's been some talk 'round town…'bout R.W. and Melvin," he said. "Some say they killed Mr Barnett, and some say they didn't…"

"So?" I said, not understanding the problem. Stacey nudged me with his elbow.

"Do you think they did it?" he asked, taking the watermelon.

Jeremy drew a long breath. "I…I don't know. They ain't really been good brothers, but they still my brothers…but this morning…"

At that moment, Christopher-John came dashing into the clearing, panting and trying to catch his breath.

"Hey, y'all," he said sadly, and then, very bluntly: "Claude Avery died this morning."

I leapt to my feet, all drowsiness shaken off. This couldn't be right. No one ever hurt Claude before, gentle and quiet Claude, who was always a scapegoat for T.J. "How's that possible?" I demanded. "Who hurt him? Is it that night with them Wallaces? If I ever catch 'em, I'll punch—"

"Cassie!" cried Stacey. "Hush. Sit down and let Christopher-John speak."

"Well," he started again, "it wasn't them Wallaces, at least, that's what Mama said…" he trailed off, seemingly noticing Jeremy for the first time, faltered, and said: "At least, that's what Mama said." I could tell he was about to say something else; his gaze flickered around nervously.

Stacey stood up. "Well, I guess I better get goin'," he said. "Come on, Cassie."

"Bye, Jeremy," I told him. He did not respond.

All the way home I pondered Christopher-John's words and what he did not want to say in front of Jeremy, and made up my mind to confront him later. He seemed like a rabbit in front of a fox on the road, seemingly trying to make up his mind whether to go fast or slow. Sometimes he lagged behind; other times, his feet sped up and put him in front of us. He would not talk to us or answer our questions, and his eyes forever shifted around, as if trying to flush out the hunters in the bushes.

Once we reached home, Mama was waiting for us on the porch. Stacey said immediately, "Mama, is Claude really…?" He did not dare say the word.

"I'm afraid so, children," Mama replied. "I wish I could say he was not…but he is."

"But why, Mama?" I blurted. "Why does Claude have to…?" I didn't dare say the word, either.

She looked us all three in the eye and said, "He was killed by R.W. and Melvin."


End file.
